A/N: Here's the new update as promised!

Be sure to check out some awesome stories: Wolves of War by GulfYankee23, Howl of the Dragonwolves by Elphaba818, The Long Night that Was Promised by Dakkaman777, Kingdom of Ice and Fire by WhiteWolf04, and From the Ashes Begin Anew by bykim0120. All of the authors are great guys that have been the best of fans!

Plus, happy birthday to Elphaba818! Hope this is a good belated birthday present :)

Enjoy and please comment :D

Chapter 15: Joyful Fights

Soft sheets.

Such was the first thing that convinced Ned every morning during his groggy, post sleep state that he wasn't in Winterfell. No dream could conceive of sheets that soft, so he could only be in the plush luxury of the Red Keep. Transformed from the second son of the Lord Paramount of the backwater Kingdom into the goodbrother to the Crown Prince of House Targaryen himself. And for his sister to be head over heels for said Prince… Yep, I'd never dream up something this incredible.

While the sheets - especially in contrast to the warm yet rough furs and linens that made up the bedspreads of the North - made it very tempting to stay in and enjoy the amenities the royal family had to offer, early to bed and early to rise drummed into him by both his father and Jon Arryn brought him from the bed to his closet. A quick dry shave and splash of water on his face found him in his leathers and breeches emblazoned with the direwolf of his House. Rare in the south, but he rather enjoyed being the northerner in the southern viper den. The cockiness of youth, as Lord Arryn would say.

Strolling down the hallways towards the training ground, a turn of the corner found him face to face with his soon to be goodbrother. "Ned," Rhaegar laughed. "Do all northerners wake up so early?"

"Unless it's the morning of a feast, aye." Ever since the Tourney… since he had taken the initiative to meet Rhaegar personally, the two had gotten much closer - Rhaegar beginning to usurp Robert's place. Well deserved. The Prince was a man worthy of respect, especially in how he treated Lyanna. "Normally even us highborns have chores around the castle…"

Rhaegar eyed him with a twinkling curiosity. "A Highborn performing chores alongside the smallfolk? Have you heard of that, Oswell?" he asked one of the two Kingsguards behind him. Ser Oswell shook his head. "Arthur?"

"Sometimes squires do it," the Sword of the Morning conceded. "But the North doesn't follow knightly traditions if I recall."

"Northerners are… different that way. Brandon fed the chickens, I swept out the kitchen, and Lyanna…" Rhaegar watched him intently. "She brushed and watered the horses."

Tipping his head back, Rhaegar laughed merrily. Falling in love with his bride more and more. "Sounds like her."

Ned grinned. "Aye, it does." He wouldn't be surprised if Lyanna wouldn't do that here as well. "Anyway, afterwards, we broke our fast and then morning training. Wasn't much to eat, lest we throw up in the middle of a spar."

"Nope, never good" the Prince conceded. "We eat after our morning training. Our food is richer than that in the North, can't ever eat it sparingly. Besides…" He and the two knights shared looks. "We work up a sweat. Bruises… have been known to happen."

The northerner detected a sort of good-natured dick measuring contest going on. "I'm sure the southern tourney knights haven't trained with Umbers and Boltons in preparation for wildling raids."

Ser Oswell trotted forward, hand on Ned's shoulder stopping him. "You calling me a 'Tourney Knight,' Lord Stark?" Eyes narrowed underneath his helm.

While a quarter head shorter than the Hacker of Harrenhal, Ned refused to be intimidated. "If the boot fits, Ser Oswell. Fightin' wildlings is man's work. Makes tourneys look like tickle fights."

"Seems this should be settled on the training grounds," smirked Rhaegar. This was going to be fun. Grunting their assent, Ned and Oswell fell into place in the group, no further words needing to be exchanged.

Turns out, for the sun barely peeking over the eastern horizon of Blackwater Bay, the training yard of Maegor's holdfast was packed. Gawking Household guards of both the dragon and direwolf joined with the appreciative glances of the female staff to watch while the highborns trained. Some stripped to bare chests even in the chill, while all were drenched in sweat. The current duo were Lord Commander Gerold Hightower and… Brandon Stark. Sharp clashes of steel rang out as the training swords met, Ned and Rhaegar perching against columns to watch the duel progress.

An upward slash from Ser Gerold was skillfully parried by Brandon, the heir to Winterfell going on the offensive. "Your brother is good," Rhaegar commented.

"He's always been a natural with a blade," Ned replied, proud that his older brother could stand strong against such a renowned fighter. "Took to it like a fish to water… for me it took a lot of work to master the skill."

"Me too, believe it or not." Both watched as an attempted counterattack from Gerold was beaten back by sheer force of arms on Brandon's part. "Leaning heavily into his strength. Good, yet unoriginal."

Ned shrugged. "Depends on our enemies. Some wildlings… just need to crush underfoot. Others are nimble, need more finesse." He looked at Rhaegar. "I know both."

Raising an eyebrow, the Prince nodded. "Oswell doesn't mean disrespect…"

"Didn't suggested he did."

"Still… they're basically my brothers. Watching out for me… sizing you Starks up." There was silence while Gerold and Brandon traded the initiative several times. "They know and like Lyanna, but they don't know you yet."

Shifting on the cold stone, Ned nodded. "Understandable. We often meet our truest friends on the battlefield."

Violet eyes swiveled to him. "That sounds quite true, Ned, though I pray I won't have to learn that the hard way." Few rulers would admit that, too obsessed with their personal dreams of glory. "I'm good at fighting, yet I hate it." Ned admired Rhaegar more just for that statement. He'll be a great King… "I will enjoy clobbering you, or seeing Oswell clobber you." The quiet wolf only laughed.

Somehow, Brandon managed to sidestep a lunge by Ser Gerold, having feinted an assault to the left. Spinning in a riposte meant to fight Thenn warriors, the Stark heir slashed until his sword hovered over the join between the Kingsguard's helm and shoulderplate. "Yield?"

Ser Gerold snorted, accepting his loss with humility. "Yield." Arms dropping, he clasped Brandon's hand. "Good match."

"Likewise, your reputation is well earned." Finally noticing Ned, Brandon grinned tiredly. "Glad you could show up little brother… goodbrother." There was little formality on the training yard. Quite an egalitarian part of the castle, at least for those participating. "Care to join me for a spar, my Prince? I promise I won't be too hard on ya'."

The shit eating grin on Brandon's face made Rhaegar roll his eyes. "While I would love to, I'm sitting this out. Your brother already chanced Ser Oswell to a one on one."

To this, Brandon was surprised. "Really Ned? Bold of you."

"What can I say?" Ned answered, picking up a practice bastard sword, tip perfectly dulled and edge round. He twirled it in his wrist to acclimate to it. "I'm not one to show off my skills to impress my betrothed… or her pretty handmaidens." A chorus of laughs rang out at Brandon's expense.

"Oh very funny, little brother." Punching Ned's shoulder, it was all in good jest. "Tell you what, how's about you and I against Ser Oswell and…"Brandon narrowed his eyes, peering out at the various Targaryen sworn swords. Suddenly, a grin of mischief spread on his face. "The Sword of the Morning." There was a silence, broken only by a bit of murmuring. Arthur, in the midst of sharpening his second blade, stilled. Confused at his name being called. "Lest he's too busy to do it."

Ned glared at his brother. "Really, Bran? He'll fuck us up." He wanted to prove himself, not get his ass handed to him.

It only provoked a cocky smile directed at Arthur. "I can take him. What do ya' say?"

Shrugging, Arthur stood up. "Alright." Bored, he decided that the arrogant Stark heir could use a humbling. Nonchalantly he went to grab his swords.

"It isn't a fair fight, brother," Ned insisted. "At least we should get another man."

"Hold up." The Prince emerged at the center, hands up. "I have a solution. Ned, Bran, you and six of your best men against Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell, and Ser Gerold. Last man standing is the winner." Frankly, this was the closest to a fair fight as he could arrange.

Sharing a glance with his brother before finally grinning widely, Brandon nodded. "Done."

Oh brother… what have you done? Based on look Rhaegar gave him, the same look Lyanna had given him when he said he could break in a growing stallion and ended up having two limbs splinted by Maester Luwin, all Ned could do was ready his blade and fight like all the seven hells.

Ser Arthur Dayne looking like the world was his oyster didn't help.


"... Lord Mace Tyrell is a jovial fellow, but a bit of a buffoon. It's his mother that's the true mastermind of House Tyrell, but his own initiative is largely spent trying to find a husband for his daughter that would make her Queen. Expect him to try and sweettalk you into betrothing her to Prince Aegon."

Lyanna stared at Jon Arryn incredulously. "But Aegon's but a sweet babe." It had been her that woke in the middle of the night to bounce him the previous early morning. Her heart swelling as he immediately cuddled close. Not much time had passed before the children were seeing her as their new mother, and she seeing them as hers as well as Elia's. "And isn't the Lady Margaery but a babe as well?"

Lord Arryn gave a depreciating smirk. "Aye, that's irrelevant though. Betrothals can be sealed even before birth… My first bride wasn't even conceived before my father made the arrangements with Lord Royce… well, the Lord Royce at a time. I've lived far longer than you, my Lady," laughed the old Warden of the East.

"I wouldn't doubt you've lived a long and fulfilling life, my Lord." While his hair had gone completely grey and a set of wooden teeth fit into his mouth, Jon Arryn still possessed the aquiline nose and piercing blue eyes of a pureblooded Andal. The Arryns had been the first Andal warlords to establish their kingdoms, and he carried himself in that august regard. "My children will be able to choose their betrotheds." Lyanna's experience with Robert made her determined for such.

A shrug from Lord Arryn. "A noble sentiment, my Lady, but I fear you may not be so lucky while ruling. Compromises must be made, but being dragons that does make it more likely." They were seated in the gardens, immersed in the second set of discussions about the political climate of King's Landing - admiring the various bounty of flowers and trees. More than Lyanna had ever seen in the glass gardens or the Wolfswood at the height of summer. "You have to understand, my Lady. Much of decisions here are those of form rather than substance. Everything not just in self-interest but seeming self-interest. Bribery, torrid affairs meant on gauging information or reputations… oftentimes favors are offered only for the reason that the players involved want to be seen offering them, only to never actually complete or even start the favors." A bleak world, but one Lynna was determined to live in to be with Rhaegar. "It is fair to assume that there are few that one can trust in the game of thrones…"

"Except for blood, correct?" Lyanna asked. "One can trust blood?"

"The Blackfyre Rebellions suggest otherwise. Daeron and Daemon were both cousins and half-brothers." That was food for thought. Lyanna knew her brothers and father were trustworthy… Who among Rhaegar's family can't I trust?

"Lyanna." It was the Princess Elia, hurrying over to them in a brisk walk.

As Elia approached, Jon Arryn brought Lyanna's hand up for a respectful kiss. "I think we should pick this up later. Until then, my Lady." He bowed to Rhaegar's wife. "Princess."

Nodding, Lyanna turned to her beautiful Dornish counterpart. Smile widening on her face. "Dearest sister-wife." She took Elia's hands, leaning in to press a kiss on each of her cheeks - Elia reciprocating. They had dined together the night before while Rhaegar was inspecting the City Watch, discussing many things - one being the traditional Dornish method of greeting family. It appealed to the she-wolf, being informal and friendly. "I trust your morning is going well."

"It has, thank you. I was going to the training yard to watch my Lord Husband train, would you like to join?" The northern beauty nodded, radiant look glossing her face at the mere mention of Rhaegar. They walked side by side, Elia glancing back to see the Warden of the East stroll away, practically the epitome of the proper Andal lord. "So what was Lord Arryn doing by your side?"

"He's been discussing court procedure to me. How a northerner can properly integrate themselves into southern politics." Both ladies made an interesting sight, the fair-skinned, athletic northerner and the swarthy, graceful Dornishwoman - each a rarity in the Andal-dominated society of Westeros. Combined with the Valyrian Targaryens, I could see why there is tension against the crown. Elia couldn't help but think of such threats, and if Arryn was advising well then Lyanna would be thinking similarly. "Is it true that Rhaegar admits you into meetings of the Small Council?"

The Princess raised an eyebrow. "Did Lord Arryn tell you that? His Grace forbids women from sitting on the Small Council."

Something in Lyanna's expression fell. "Oh, well, I thought so. Some taboos are hard to break…"

Once they left the gardens and entered the Holdfast, Elia squeezed her arm. "Aerys never ventures into the Holdfast anymore, he keeps quarters near the Throne Room in case of Lannister spies. He has been known to walk the gardens, however." They began to ascend a staircase. "When he can, Rhaegar allows me into the council. I sit in the position of honor across from the Hand as his wife, so I wouldn't be surprised if you are afforded the same."

Light returned to Lyanna." Oh Gods… he really is something, isn't he?" She wore the genuine visage of a woman in love - clearly having had the moments of affection with the Crown Prince that sealed their bond beyond politics or familiarity. "It's been a whirlwind, but for the life of me I can't imagine a life without him anymore."

Elia sighed, a tiny spark of jealousy flickering in the pit of her stomach. "I know the feeling, Lyanna." She clasped her hands together, closing her eyes for a moment. The Lady of House Stark had practically been her shadow for the last several days, alone or joined by Rhaegar or their children - Rhaenys and Aegon already adored her, the former ecstatic at the stories of the Kings of Winter and riding with Lyanna atop her mare. It was as if Lyanna fit into their family, displacing none but rather carving out her own position. But she has had the moments I was denied…

"Sister? Elia?" Brown eyes opened to find Lyanna glancing worriedly at her.

As quickly as the feelings emerged, Elia suppressed them. "I'm fine." She smiled - long having come to terms with her lot, the sweet, gentle Lyanna deserved nothing but her friendship. Elia wanted to be friends with her and it was clearly reciprocated. "Rhaegar… there is no one better than he."

"Oh yes." Balcony opening up before them, Lyanna didn't see her beloved. Only her two brothers huddled together with six of their family's bannermen. Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull… Beyond, three Kingsguards waited patiently, practice swords lazily kept at their sides. "Not waiting all damn day, Stark," Ser Oswell called out.

Brandon glared. "Mugs of ale are on you tonight at the inn. Better get the silver stags ready."

Oh no… "Those dumb bastards." She shook her head. "It sometimes amazes me that we share blood."

"They're not really meaning to spar against Ser Arthur?" Elia asked incredulously.

"Sounds just like something Bran would do. Try to say he eat the sword of the Morning." Sure enough, he was making outrageous swings with his practice sword. "Ned… he probably thinks his honor demands it."

Elia snorted. "They'll lose. I've only seen Arthur bested twice. One each to Rhaegar and Oberyn, and that was after dozens of spars with them."

You cock-addled fools. Lyanna covered he face in her hands, frustrated at their stupidity. "Bran! Ned!" Her yelling caught their attention. "You bloody idiots. Get out of there before I tear you a new one."

Brandon reacted as if he was wounded. "Oh sister, you doth hurt me. Think I can't win this spar?"

"I think you overestimate your skills. Stop being an overconfident fool before you embarrass yourself." Her gaze shifted to Ned. "And you, what's your excuse?"

At that moment, Lya sounded a lot like their mother. Scolding them for tracking mud into the Keep. "Sorry, sister, but Oswell challenged me and I must meet the challenge."

She rolled her eyes. "Honorable fool." Elia stood beside, simply watching the sibling dynamic. Much like her and Oberyn.

"Don't worry about it, my loves." Hearing her beloved's voice, Lyanna found Rhaegar emerging from directly below them, arms open in apology. "Just settling a dispute over skill. Don't worry, it's a fair fight." Snorts and chuckles from the Northerners… all except for Ned and Howland Reed, both quiet. "No one will get hurt."

"You don't know that."

"Do not worry, my Lady." It was Ser Arthur Dayne, taking off his helm to look at her with his green eyes. "I shan't hurt your brothers when I defeat them." That drew a glare from Brandon but was sincere to Lyanna. She merely waved her hand, washing her hands of it. "Alright, shall we begin?" He raised his swords, as did Gerold Hightower and Oswell Whent.

Each of the eight Northerners did the same, clustered into a loosely packed mass. The burly Lord Willam Dustin and his goodbrother Ser Mark Ryswell. The grizzled but kind Martyn Cassel and the scarred Theo Wull. Third son of his House Ethan Glover and the quiet Howland Reed. And oth the smirking Brandon and brooding Eddard Stark. Everyone around hushed their conversations, one enterprising maester's acolyte studying under Grand Maester Pycelle pulling out a quill and leaf of parchment to write notes of this. While merely a spar, it would be a worthy story for his future history of Rhaegar Targaryen's reign.

Sensing the tension thick enough to cut with a knife, Rhaegar merely clapped his hand to begin. Good luck, brothers, you'll need it.

At the clap, the Northerners charged. Brandon leapt at Arthur with a booming battlecry that would have made a Thenn Magnar proud, only for the Sword of the Morning to block the coming swing. Spinning a sideways kick to knock Brandon off balance - the first 'kill' of the match came technically to Ser Gerold, nudging his sword hard into the boiled leather covering the stomach of Mark Ryswell just before both of Arthur's blades rocketed into the cocky Ethan Glover. Ryswell just shrugged and hurried off the field, while the cocky Glover shouted profanities and only buggered off by a stern glare from the Crown Prince. Eight against three became six against three.

"Not a good start for your brothers," Elia mused.

Lyanna couldn't help but agree. "Come on, Bran! Watch your flank!"

Already having barely dodged a killing blow at his hip, Ned darted back to join with Howland. Only then launching themselves at Oswell. The Riverman knight handled one sword with the skill that Arthur did two, wrists firm but flexible as his blade matched each strike the northerners made. Ned lunged, trying to time it for when Howland sliced… but was a second too late. Oswell had just parried the slash and managed to dart away from the lunge. Blade slashing sideways on its own and forcing Ned the stumble to the left. Only Howland's repeated assaults broke Oswell from Ned, the Crannogman now his sole target.

Arthur found himself surrounded by three, four once Willam Dustin broke off as Gerold clashed with Ned. He kept his head on a swivel, swords turning constantly to keep his wrists fluid in movement. Smirking, the knight just where he wanted him, Brandon clicked his tongue and the four advanced simultaneously.

The courtyard echoed with the clashing steel. Each Northerner charging, slashes and thrusts going every which way as Arthur met each one. Arms nearly blurred with frantic yet graceful moves one would witness in the legends of old. Counters were forceful, pushing an attacker back several paces so that the Sword of the Morning could concentrate on the other three. At one time facing them all head on, Brandon's smirk turning to a snarl as he tried to slash upward, only to be forced by a double parry while Arthur kicked Theo Wull in the chest. Coughing, Wull was helpless against the training blade cutting right across his middle. Trying to keep up with the constant fighting, Rhaegar whistled. "Out, Wull!" He was only too happy to comply.

Coming up for a downward chop, Gerold was the first Kingsguard casualty of the day when he found Ned's sword at the hollow of his neck. The Crown Prince's call coming not long after. "First blood goes to the Quiet Wolf." Barely hearing Elia, Lyanna watched with interest as Ned went to rejoin Howland. Come on, Ned… show them how we fight in the North.

Howland was on his last legs. Sweat drenching his tunic and leathers, ankles close to giving out, Oswell easily overcame the half-hearted blows of the Crannongman - they trained to fight hit and run partisan tactics, not direct confrontation with armored knights and it showed. The heavy, two-handed blow sent Howland's sword to the ground and suddenly a blade was at his chest. Another loss for the North, but quickly followed by the second loss for the Kingsguards when Ned utilized the distraction and crashed into the preoccupied Oswell, knocking him down and poking his stomach.

Four against one.

Both swords shot through the air, Arthur taking on Cassel and Brandon in individual clashes while Dustin snuck up behind his comrades. A wise move after a lunge sent Brandon scrambling back, only for crossed blades to take out Cassel - the Winterfell Master-at-Arms prudent enough to sink to the ground after in order not to get in the way. Brandon got in several slashes but all were parried, Arthur managing to slip away and block a downward attack by Dustin… who felt the second sword slamming into his shoulder.

Two against one.


"I have orders from His Grace that Tywin Lannister is not to be provided lodgings within the Red Keep, My Lady. And with all due respect affording your station, I would advise that you keep your visits to the Red Keep to a minimum."

Storming down the corridors of the Red Keep as fast as the skirts of her dress would allow, Cersei Lannister cursed the powers to be in the Seven Kingdoms. From King Aerys II himself, to Aegon V for appointing him the heir, and lastly Hand of the King Jon Connington. Far more a Rhaegar loyalist than he was to the current occupant of the Iron Throne, he nevertheless shared Aerys' distaste of House Lannister. Such contempt was on full display on the early winter's morning when she sought on her father's order the appropriate lodgings for the Warden of the West due to his attending the royal wedding.

The nerve of that cunt. Cersei's hands balled at their sides, the red in her vision blocking out all else. I am a lady of House Lannister! We were Kings while they were nothing but goatherders in Valyria! Jon Arryn and that oaf Mace Tyrell both acquired premium guest chambers in the keep… This was all supposed to be mine! Even with letting go of her bitterness at losing Rhaegar, said bitterness cropped up at each instance of disrespect and humiliation inflicted on her by the King and his retinue - Rhaegar the only one ever respectful even as he brushed her off. If I want to see Jaime, I'll see him when I damn well please. Connington's dismissive threats notwithstanding.

And yet… the calm voice within her mind - increasingly present since her… health scare many moonturns before - told her the opposite. That Connington, whatever his actual motivations, bore truthful advice. That the increasingly erratic King would erupt at even seeing the golden-haired lioness. Increasingly secluded since arriving back in the capitol, that didn't mean he couldn't pop up out of nowhere right in front of her.

Perfectly made up without a hair out of place, that didn't stop Cersei ruining her maid's impeccable work by running her fingers through it. Trying not the scream in frustration.

The sudden grunt of pain from a ma threw Cersei back into reality. Blinking, a twist of her head revealed the packed training courtyard, dozens of men and women watching a man in leather armor collapse, clutching his shoulder as he wriggled moaning off the sparring floor. Catching the silver locks of Prince Rhaegar and the two Princesses viewing the spectacle right across the courtyard from her, Cersei panicked. Scrambling back until she ducked behind a large column, blocking her from view.

When she was sure she wasn't seen - she still didn't know why instinct made her hide - Cersei poked her head to peek from behind the column. There was the dual-wielding figure of Ser Arthur Dayne, pretty easy to pick out. Anyone in the south knew the Sword of the Morning. He assumed a fighting stance, one training blade kept level with his forearm while the other twisted in his wrist. Two others circled him with their own single blades. Cersei didn't recognize the tall, dashing man whose cocky facade didn't dampen with the sweat and exhaustion coating his face. The other… Cersei's eyes widened at the stockier, more guarded form of Eddard Stark.

He would have been thrilled to know that the tourney had left a big impression of him on Cersei Lannister. But at the moment, Ned's mind was everywhere but that.

Meeting the gaze of both of the Starks, Ned to his right and Brandon to his left, Arthur leveled his attack arm directly at the heir of Winterfell. Daring him to attack. Brandon did not disappoint, launching a leftward slash directly at the Sword of the Morning.

Split second behind, Ned attacked as well, swinging upward only to be deflected by the defending arm. The blades clashed, Arthur giving ground in a wide arc against Ned while his free swings pressed against Brandon… hoping to tire out the quiet wolf while forcing the wild one to grow desperate. Brows tight and face scrunched, the heir fell into the trap. Blows skilled and strong but also growing more and more furious.

Ned, however, refused to take the bait. Hanging back, committing just enough to distract Arthur's attention. We're not going to beat him on skill and strength alone. Probing to Arthur's right, trying to hit at his legs, the defending sword emerged from its position in a more aggressive parry. Knocking Ned back. He protects his vulnerable points too well… where doesn't he protect? A wild swipe by Brandon that came just close to hitting Arthur's hand caught his attention. Hmmm...

Swinging around, the kingsguard swiped at Brandon's head, the heir ducking… only for the defending arm to take a chance and lunge forward. Stabbing into Brandon's belly and sending him careening to the ground. "Ah shit!" coughed the wild wolf, smacking his palm on the stone.

One on one.

An inaudible gasp left Cersei's lips, eyes unable to tear themselves away even if she wanted to. Eddard Stark was alone, facing none other than Arthur Dayne. An eventuality that would drive even the most determined man to distraction, yet he refused to be cowed. Face solemn and hard… calculating, far different than the softness she had seen in him before. Heat pooled within her, joining with the apprehension. My gods...

"End it Arthur!" hooted Oswell. Much as Rhaegar did want to see his goodbrother do well, he agreed with the skeptical looks on his men… and even the Northerners. There was no way the Northerner would beat the Sword of the Morning.

Taking the sentiment to heart, the Falling Star went on the offensive. Charging furiously at the direwolf, twin blades never giving a moment of rest. Ned tried to chop with two hands, but the quick swings denied him that chance. Wrist aching as he struggled to one-handedly parry each of Arthur's attacks.

Lyanna watched, entranced at the back and forth just as all the others were. "He's better than Ned."

"Far better," was Elia's response. "Your brother, he thinks. Not like the others."

"Could he think his way out of this?"

A shrug. "I doubt it. Arthur's too good."

Each swing was tiring him out, each clash driving him further to exhaustion. Both blades crashed against his, Arthur determined to force Ned to heel, but Ned merely looked for his opening. For the killing blow Arthur would make. One that gave Ned the chance to try something. Hit him where he doesn't expect a blow… where he is weak in countering. And it came, Arthur's right arm parrying a wild strike by Ned as his left angled back to deliver an upward strike. Ned doubled back his blade with one last gasp of agility and lunged straight for Arthur's left wrist...

An echo rang out, sword clanging atop the stone. Nothing but the sharp intake of breath and the panting of the two combatants left standing. Finally paused in their clash, chests heaving and sweat dripping… Ned's sword pointing at Arthur's neck. Green eyes wide from under the helm, grey eyes just as wide.

Brandon was open mouthed.

Rhaegar could barely move in his shock.

Lyanna and Elia both shared the complexion of owls.

And from behind the column, Cersei felt her heart beating out of her chest. Unknowingly crossing her legs.

"Yield," Arthur finally said, rubbing at his struck hand just as Ned dropped his guard. Spar over. "Smart move, Stark," he offered, small smirk on his face. "I wish you well in the wars to come… not that you need it." Ned, catching his breath, returned it with a smile of his own. Not faint praise.

"How the fuck did you do that?" Ethan Glover blurted out.

"I'll tell you how he did," Rhaegar beamed, racing out to clasp his goodbrother on the back. "Scoping out his foe's weaknesses. Finding a proper attack point… this is a man I will be proud to have by my side in the wars to come!" Pulled out of their collective shock, the entire gathering began applauding, cheering. Brandon walking over to thump Ned on the shoulder while Lyanna whistled, their praise for their brother pouring out. This would certainly go in the histories - judging by the young acolyte's frantic scribbling.

As the cheering died down, Ned staggered to the refreshment table set up for the fighters, pouring a cup of the liquid provided. Downing the watered wine, letting the slightly sour liquid quench his throat, Ned watched as Rhaegar grabbed a practice sword. "Come on, Ned, my turn now."

He groaned. "I'm out. Exhausted."

"Fuck that. Don't be a weak woman. Get over here." He took a sparring stance, spurning all forms of armor for a simple thin tunic. "If you can beat the Sword of the Morning you can face your Prince. That's my command."

Sighing, Ned finished his cup and picked up the blade, moving back to the center of the courtyard. "Your move, my Prince." Rhaegar grinned before he lunged forward, blades striking each other for a split second before they began their dance.

Lyanna watched it intently, eyes locked on not her brother, but her soon to be husband. The way his muscles rippled under the tunic that did no favors in covering them. His long silver hair matted by the sheen of sweat on his forehead. The fluid movements showing off his immense prowess at war… Lyanna's core flooded with wetness. Gods, he is just… a… a man. "Magnificent… isn't he?"

For the Dornish Princess, seeing her husband in such a moment - and her future sister-wife practically coming to orgasm beside her - it was causing her nethers to grow wet as well. "We are very lucky," Elia finally croaked.

Neither of them noticed the green-eyed blonde across the courtyard, eyes staring just as intently. Join of her legs just as aroused looking upon the sparring. Only her eyes weren't trained on the Crown Prince.


"Come on, Rhaegar…" Lyanna whined, giggling as her beloved pulled her along the corridors of the Red Keep. Dress billowing behind her even as her athletic legs kept up with Rhaegar's large strides. "Tell me where you're taking me."

Feeling like the carefree lad he never was allowed to be - racing about the hallways desperate to impress the girl he was enamored with - Rhaegar tilted his head around to wink at Lyanna. "Wouldn't you like to know."

She pursed her lips crossly. "Oh shut it, of course I want to know." They both turned a corner, Rhaegar slowing to a walk. Handsome and simply… manly, after his spar with her brother concluded in a triumph for her betrothed. A hard fought one though, Rhaegar covered in sweat and musk and… oh gods… Her insides quivered just looking at him. Stopping in the middle of the hallway, she pulled him close against her under the coffered ceiling vaults towering high above and inlaid with mosaics and gold leaf. Such stupendous beauty and splendor for a daughter of the North - but Lyanna only had eyes for Rhaegar, her dashing Dragon Prince. "You come out of your sparring, all sexy and such…"

Rhaegar watched her suck her bottom lip between pearly white teeth. Her smile stirring him to painful arousal. "Oh really?"

"Aye." Lyanna ran her fingers down the length of Rhaegar's tunic, inhaling his musky scent. Confidence in her sexual expression growing by the day. "There was nothing that I wanted more than to take you to my chambers and devour you… and yet we are here instead of there." While her face radiated innocence, her stormy grey eyes were anything but. "Why is that?"

Surging forward, enveloping her in a savage kiss that stole both their breaths away, Rhaegar held her trim waist. Pulling back only when he needed air. "You'll see, Lya. I pledge on my honor that you will find it to your liking." At her deep inhale and nod, Rhaegar took her hand again and guided her down the tiled hallways. They were devoid apart from the errant guard or servant, bowing deeply and then going about their business.

In barely a minute, both of them reached two large ironwood doors. "So, am I here to see a pair of doors?"

Rhaegar rolled his eyes. "Must you be difficult?"

"Yes," she smirked back, causing him to grin at her. It was just so easy to slip into the back and forth of a compatible couple.

Fingers closing around the handles of the entranceway, Rhaegar looked back. "Oh, close your eyes."

"Rhaegar, really?" Lyanna huffed, hands on her hips. "We're not children…"

"Please?" he urged. Sighing, his soon to be wife complied, tapping her feet upon the stone floor impatiently. Not wasting more time, Rhaegar threw open the doors for her. "Go inside."

Gingerly walking forward, Lyanna's mind wandered in speculation. "Before I open my eyes, can you give me some kind of hint?" The she-wolf wanted to see if she could guess his surprise.

Placing his hands on her from behind, Rhaegar chuckled and placed a gentle kiss on her pale neck. "I promised that I would never chain you. That my future Queen would never have to become someone she isn't, become a different person than the one I fell in love with." His words were eloquent, the best of the volumes of poetry and epic stories his mother and maester had made him read during his childhood. "Well, here we are."

Hmmm… interesting. She didn't smell the hay or dirt of a stable so it couldn't have been something regarding Winter - her horse had taken to the large stables of the Red Keep like a fish took to water. Had it regarded her swordsmanship, they would have stayed in the training grounds. "Alright, my love. Can I open my eyes now?"

"Do it." Rhaegar felt like a kid on his nameday, eager for presents.

Lids fluttering back to see what he seemed so desperate to show her, it took a moment for it to register in her vision. Jaw dropping in shock and wonder as she twirled around. Eyes staring at the vast expanse she was suddenly in the middle of. "Rhaegar…"

A library, two stories tall and letting in direct sunlight from a series of large glass windows and a dazzling array of colors from various stained glass displays of Targaryen Kings long past. Surrounding the walls and branching out onto the open space were stacks and stacks of books. Thin picturebooks, massive tomes, intricately bound novels and epic poems, ancient scrolls. Lyanna even found a section filled with texts in the style of the Free Cities, of far flung lands whose books only made it in dribs and drabs to the Winterfell library. She had spent most of her time not sleeping or running wild outside the castle walls among the books, and this library had to be ten times as massive.

Lyanna turned to her future husband. Eyes glassy as she regarded him yet again with new eyes. "What is this, my love?" He had sworn to her that he would never chain her, that it was her wild, iconoclast nature that formed the basis of his love… but to see such a feeling expressed in reality… She was close to trembling, so vast was her love for him.

"When Maegor built the Red Keep, he didn't include a library. Concerned he was on other matters. It was Jaehaerys that commissioned this collection, expanded greatly by Aerys I." Rhaegar fell into step behind her, Lyanna pulling out a tome on the history of the North. Similar to what was in the Winterfell library, but simply thicker with information. "My grandfather, Aegon remodeled it into its current glory… the largest library in the known world, aside from the Citadel and the Great Library of Braavos. They say the Yi Ti have one as big, but they are an enigma."

Hand tracing several paragraphs of these one burning of Winterfell by the Bolton Red Kong's, Lyanna set the volume down and turned towards him. Seeing over his shoulder the vast collection of thousands of volumes - imagining how giddy her childhood self would have been here, all muddy from riding in the Wolfswood yet excited to sit at a bench and devour the histories of the Realm and the legends of Old Valyria and the Age of Heroes. And now, even close to marriage to the Crown Prince, Lyanna had to bite back a squeal of delight. "And all this?"

"All yours, my love," came the response.

Unable to contain herself, Lyanna flung herself at Rhaegar. Heart bursting with love and eyelids brimming with tears of joy. "You perfect… beautiful man." Frantic lips pressed all over his face, Lyanna desperately needing to show just how much Rhaegar meant to her. "I love you so much… thank you for this." Beaming, she kissed him again - longer and deeper.

Crushing her to his chest, needing her flush against him, Rhaegar took quick control of the kiss. Plundering her mouth. Wanting his powerful direwolf to feel loved and cherished. To be known as the latest of the mighty Targaryen Queens, unchained and free as the dragons they rode. The kiss broke, his hand moving to cup her cheek. "Lyanna…"

She gazed at him with hooded eyes. "I can't wait to read every volume in this library… but what are we still doing here, my dragon?"

Hesitating no longer, Rhaegar lifted Lyanna into his arms, drinking in her joyous laughter as he raced back to their chambers.

A/N: That was fun to write! All the girls are enjoying the view of their respective men... even if they aren't their men... yet ;)

About Ned beating Ser Arthur in the end... I know Arthur is better than Ned. Basically better than anyone in the seven kingdoms. He was only defeated in the canon fight cause he was stabbed in the back. This shows that his senses aren't infallible. After beating all the other fighters, seeking to just end the spar, Ned basically used a trick and brains to score a one in a thousand killing blow... plus I thought it would be fun to have the legend be true. Ned defeats the Sword of the Morning, and no one gets hurt except for some bruised egos :D

Cersei still has the brattiness that comes from being Tywin's daughter raised to be Queen, that was unavoidable. But perhaps some unconditional love from a kind man is just what the Maester ordered.

Elia and Lyanna have a good relationship so far, but it's not going to be two dimensional. Very complex that will play out over multiple chapters.

Couldn't help but put the library scene in. Hammers home the contrast between Rhaegar and Robert. I can imagine Lyanna with little Jon, teaching him how to read :)

Next up, Ned and Cersei have a moment, and Robert is a baaad boy ;)